YES! I KNOW!! I know it's too late for Christmas and all that, but I don't care!! I really wanted to finish this phic, and I haven't quite done so…there's one more chappie left, but this one's nice and long. It's a really weird, jumbled description of everything that happened, and I should let you know that I was running very high on sugar when I wrote it. It's such a silly, toasty little ending that if you knew me, you'd probably want to smack me on the head. Oh well. and yes. It isn't that funny. But Christmas does funny things to us all. I'm sorry it's so late. I've been procrastinating… Enjoy!

Everything Explained...very weirdly. a lot doesn't make sense, but what the hey

Erik stared at the modern-looking device in his hand. A black, lumpy thing, with all sorts of knobs and shiny buttons. And a small grid of holes at the bottom.

"Begging your pardon, Mademoiselle Cosette, but what the hell is this?"

"It's called a walkie-talkie," said Cosette briskly. "You see, I've got one, Nadir has one, and Julio—JULIO! Stop playing with it!"

Julio looked up sheepishly; he had been methodically smacking the walkie-talkie onto the floor, to see if it would hold.

"Sorree," he said apologetically.

"Right," said Cosette, "now then. Erik, you must press this button:" She guided his skeletal finger to the large red button and pressed it down. The walkie-talkie emitted a shrill rush of static. Completely startled, Erik shrieked and dropped it.

"No fair," snapped Julio, "Monsieur Ereek can play, but Julio cannot."

"Erik's more sane than you'll ever be," muttered Cosette, eyeing the twitching masked man with a decided interest.

""oo know what I say too zat?" Julio, for the first time in his admission, looked annoyed.

"Something brutish?" said Cosette loftily.

""oo're a leetle beet RACIST!"

Cosette shrank back with rage. "WHAT? Well, you're a little bit, TOO!"

Julio shrugged.

"I guess wee're both a leetle beet racist…"

Cosette agreed: "Admitting it is not an easy thing to do,"

"But I guess eet's true, between me and oo…"

The two randomly burst into song and dance; Nadir and Erik watched, jaws roughly level with the floor.

Nadir snapped out of his trance and thrust an arm between the two furiously singing characters in the manner of Raoul's old football coach: "Okay, kids, break it up—"

At last, Cosette leaned back, and expertly tucked a tendril of golden hair behind a shapely ear. "I got distracted…back on track, gents?"

Erik sighed. There was no way out. Not only was he morally bound to Cosette, he actually had no idea how to get out of this particular room in his house. "Damn, my architectural genius," he fumed as the others began searching for an exit.

"How do we get out of here?" demanded Cosette, whose patience was obviously beginning to fray.

"Er…see, the thing is," began Erik very meekly. Cosette ran her hands along the walls, slapping random stones in a Holmes-esque manner. At last, she reached a little niche with her long fingers.

"This is our way out," she said very scientifically, and before Erik could say another word, she took out a hairpin, wiggled it in, and in seconds the four of them were in the foyer.

"I must say, mademoiselle, I am very much impressed," mumbled Erik.

"You see what I am capable of?" she said with a charming smile.

Erik could. And it frightened him considerably.

CHRISTMAS EVE

Erik stood in his least ratty evening suit, and in a shirt that at least vaguely resembled the color white. He combed his dark locks in a fragmented wedge of mirror that he had salvaged from the bottom of his coffin (?). "I know I hate mirrors," he muttered to himself, "but this is too much." The mirror shard was precisely four inches both ways, more or less. And all Erik could see was that he had a rather shapely mouth.

"I can't SEE myself properly," he groaned, posing it at different angles in efforts to get his entire body in. It was in this state Nadir found him.

"Preening yourself?"
Erik was busily attempting to tape the mirror on the wall and stepping far away from it, then realizing that although his entire body was now within the enclosure of the mirror, it was too far away for his eyes to properly register the image. "Curses!" he growled.

"You look tatty," commented Nadir, "And I suggest you do something about it. Cosette will be here any moment, and you know that you are going nowhere unless you pass her screening."

Erik looked at his friend appealingly.

"What on earth am I to do? I haven't anything better to wear! Most of these are Piangi's hand-me-downs, and he doesn't even know it!"

Nadir observed him thoughtfully for a moment, and then pulled something out of his pocket.

"Here," he suggested, brandishing a pink rose at Erik. "Pop this in your breast pocket, and you'll be charming."
"I don't wear foliage," said Erik.

Nadir stuffed the rose into Erik's coat.

"I hate you."
"It's mutual," said Nadir, patting down Erik's hair.

"This dress-up, it's silly, I'm so embarrassed—"
"Are you ready at last?" Cosette entered the room suddenly, a vision in satin greens. She was clutching a clipboard and a pen in her white-gloved hands. Before Erik could say a word, the young woman began circling him, in the way a predator circles her prey after the hunt. She muttered to herself, and began checking things off on her clipboard. At last, she stopped, and Erik waited for the verdict:

"Passable," she said shrewdly. "but I am neither impressed nor pleased. At dinner you will behave with the strictest propriety, and respond only when spoken to." She swooped suddenly, so that Erik and she were nose-to-nose. "Is that clear?"
"Yes ma'am," said Erik, and he saluted her zealously.

"All right then," she said abruptly, her voice spun sugar again. "Let us have a wonderful time, my darling," she slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow.

There was a small shaking sensation from the ground as Julio bounded into the room looking like a towering confection in a monstrous pink suit with little cherry buttons going down the vast expanse of his stomach. His hair had been slicked back with inordinate amounts of gel, and he had apparently attempted to shave (and this attempt did not yield the best of results).

"Forgeev mee," said the enormous man, "baat I vas tryeeng to loook naaice…"
"You look lovely," said Nadir kindly, "like a…a…oh, help—" he waggled his arms around, groping for the best description.
"Like an ice cream?" supplied Erik helpfully.

"Yes. Like an ice cream!" Nadir nodded. Julio looked glum. "But a very nice ice cream!"

Cosette coughed very suggestively. "Let us carry on right here, shall we? No need to go to the restaurant!"

Erik, afraid to annoy Cosette, began walking out the door. "Come on, you lot," he yelled behind him.

Cosette was the last to leave. She clicked the door shut with a tiny hand, and smiled broadly. Tonight was going to be interesting.

Pity she didn't know exactly how interesting.

Erik's heart did a summersault when he saw the restaurant; he took a moment to correspond the hollowness of his heart with the hollowness of his checkbook. It was highly elegant, with fairy lights strung up all over the place in an elegant manner. There were elegant creepers elegantly encircling the elegant front door, and an elegant valet holding an elegant clipboard filled with (undoubtedly) elegant restaurant patrons. It looked like just the sort of place Cosette might stop by to purchase an elegant salad with elegant, extra-virgin olive oil. And she looked extremely happy; what would she do when she found out he had no money?

"Come, Erik," she said joyously just as these very thoughts were occurring to him. She smiled beguilingly as they reached the valet, who volunteered to park the carriage for them. Cosette smiled delightfully, and gave Erik a look that completely reeked of the signal, "tip him!!"

Damn.

The valet was providentially too busy gawking down Cosette's dress to notice much else; Erik took this to his advantage and strutted into the restaurant authoritatively. He could practically hear the sizzle of Cosette's Angry-Rays. Luckily, Nadir pressed a coin into the valet's hand to avoid temporary infringement of Cosette's Laws. Erik made a mental note to hug Nadir excessively the moment he stopped quaking with apprehension.

A pretty girl dressed finely came to guide them to their table; Erik felt her eyes raking his sides with appraisal. He held his head a bit higher. They were led to a side table which Erik immediately noticed was too large. "There are four extra spaces!" he said, counting the number of frilly placemats. Cosette leaned in seductively and was muttering something very sweetly to the waiter (who was turning progressive shades of darker purple). She selected a flute of champagne from the center of the table.

"Lovely," she said with a smile. Erik felt that he was the only one that was, if reduced to using the very modern terms that his conventional mind detested, "out of it." Nadir and Julio were shooting each other rather dubious looks, and this was occasionally punctured by Cosette, who shot dubious looks at both of them at the same time, until they all nodded together, happily achieving a state of truly dubious dubiousness. Erik felt that he needed to sit down.

"If something's going on," he said wearily, "I would be rather pleased if you told me."

"Going on? What ever do you mean, my dear?" Cosette smiled at the bewildered Casanova.

At that precise moment, the restaurant door shot open, and Erik saw Julio mutter something into his walkie-talkie. Erik looked up and could scarcely believe his eyes. The doorway was suddenly crowded with four very attractive people, all of whom were chattering noisily and seemed very taken with each other. Unfortunately for him, Erik recognized two of the four: the a young lady with soft dark curls and delightful blue eyes, and a handsome, sunny-faced fellow with aristocratic clothing.

Raoul and Christine!

And the frightening part was that the couple that the Vicomte and Comtesse were with looked remarkably like the Vicomte and Comtesse. Which made it rather hard to register in Erik's brain, for a moment, that he was staring at Marius Pontmercy and Eponine Thernadier as well.

Erik turned his head slowly. It was a motion that brought to mind the infamous scene from "The Exorcist" (a film, by the way, that Erik enjoyed watching from time to time). Nadir smiled nervously. Erik felt a methodical drumming inside his pant pocket. It was the feeling of the Punjab Lasso, begging to be unleashed. But before he (or the Lasso) could do anything, Nadir made an abortive attempt to laugh loudly, and call out, in a voice trembling with very audible trepidation:

"Could it be? Dost mine eyes deceive me?"

Raoul de Chagny looked up, his jaw hanging loose in very comical (and highly counterfeit) surprise. "Why bless my toes!" he shouted. "Can it be you? Nadir Khan?" Nobody and yet everybody could hear Erik's incensed huff as Raoul, followed closely by Christine, followed closely by Marius, who was followed closely by Eponine, approached the solitary table. With a flamboyant gesture, Raoul snatched Nadir's arm and proceeded to pump it at an alarming rate.

"Jolly ho! Who would have thought, after all these years—"

"I can't believe it's you, old boy, so wonderful!"

"Raoul! Is that really you? You look good! Or should I call you, Monsieur Vicomte—"
"Don't be silly, Naddy, you can call me what ever you want—"
The two pounded fists and carried out a strange ritual that comprised mainly of methodic clapping and war-cries. Raoul paused in the middle of it to consult a little slip of paper filled with, (Erik could read these with his eternal, peripheral Erik-vision) directions to a "secret" handshake. Clap, war-cry once, clap twice, etc. It was when Nadir and Raoul began slapping each other playfully that Erik finally snapped.

"Why am I the only one who feels like we're at a frat reunion?"

"Well, sort of," said Nadir with an abortive attempt to laugh casually, "Actually, Raoul and I went to culinary school together!"
Erik didn't even bother masking (ha! Hah!) his astonishment. Culinary school?

"Nadir," he began, "What kind of a moron do you take me for? Culinary school? Surely you could do better, I mean, come on, you practically live with the likes of me—"
"But it's true!"

The vicomte whirled on Erik with a large, impressively realistic smile. "Why! Monsieur Opera Ghost! So…" he paused as though it pained him to continue, "…so nice to see you! I didn't dream you'd be here…in fact I had no idea dear old Naddy would be either…it's the most remarkable coincidence, I would never dream of it!"

"I imagine," said Erik very dryly. Christine, he noticed, was busily flattening herself behind Marius and Eponine.

"Oh and by the way," said Raoul in a chipper tone, "have you met my companions? Marius Pontmercy and my dear friend Miss Eponine Thernadier!" Everyone paused to say a polite hello. Erik smiled and nodded valiantly. And then he was determined to get to the bottom of this.

"So." The Opera Ghost halted the introductions, and began pacing about the table in a very Sherlockian manner. "I have a series of questions for you. All of you—" He turned swiftly on his heel. "There is a conspiracy here. All of you have been plotting—I know it. So here are my questions. First—" Erik paused, lingering what he hoped to be a piercing gaze on Nadir, then Cosette, then Julio, and then the rest. He stared at Christine very hard, and she was suddenly fascinated with her shoes. "First of all. Why am I here? Secondly, why are you—" he nodded to Raoul and his party, "here? Thirdly, what is this win-a-date thing, anyhow? And lastly," he turned to Cosette, "What exactly is the price range in this restaurant? I need to be sure I can afford it."

Nobody said anything for a long time. Some restaurant patrons had turned around to see what the fuss was all about. One of them, gathered Erik, must be a phan judging by her Phantom eyeglasses (which had twin white masks on the lenses which rather defeated the purpose of them anyway), phantom purse, and phantom pooch (which white masks dyed into his black fur).

There was silence for a whole two and a half minutes. And then, Christine came forward.

"All right." She said quietly, although Erik could feel Nadir shaking his head vigorously and making slicing motions with his arms at Christine, behind his back. "all right. I will explain."
Erik sat down. Again.

"All right," she said, "All right. I admit. It was I. I started the whole thing. I planned it. I arranged for the screening process, etcetera, and etcetera."
"But Christine?" Erik stared at her in absolute bewilderment, "why?"
Christine sniffed loudly and dabbed her eyes. "Oh Erik," she said, "I felt so guilty leaving you down there, at the mercy of all those horrible ballet rats, and ballet mistresses, and stagehands, and chorus members, and—"
"All right," said Erik, " I get the point. But why did you hold the contest?"
"Oh Erik," she said again, "I wanted so desperately to find you someone else! I hate the thought of you all alone! It will always make me feel terrible!"

Erik sighed. Behind him, the phan who had undoubtedly been paying attention the whole time, sighed as well. Christine appeared doe-eyed, watching Erik.

"So how did you pick Cosette?" he asked.

"Well," said Christine with the beginnings of a smile, "I have you a bit fooled at least. You see, Cosette isn't your phan!"
Erik whirled around at Cosette, who gave him a wink.

"What the blazes—" he dared to cock his head ever so slightly at the bespectacled phan seated with her parents a few tables away, salivating at her good fortune of being in Erik's line of vision. "Not her," he mouthed to Christine, pleading written on every curve of his face.

"No," said Christine with an honest grin, "She isn't the phan—"

"I am!"

Erik turned for the fiftieth time that evening, and faced Eponine Thernadier.

"You?"

Eponine grinned broadly. "Me! Is it too horrible?"
Erik thought for a moment.

"You aren't a soprano, are you?"
"Why, no," she said, not the slightest bewildered.

"Well, that's good," said the weary opera ghost. And then a very strange thing happened. He fainted.

"Is he coming around?"

"I can't see—"

"Raoul, pass me the napkin, if you please—no, don't try to do it yourself—would you have the sense to douse it in water, first?"
"For goodness' sake, Christine, don't smother the man! He'll die first!"

"Would you mind that terribly?"
"Now that you mention it—"
"Nadir, we need Nadir!"

A pattering of footsteps.

Erik felt a throbbing pain in his skull, and glanced up to see a nice number of attractive faces hovering above him.

"Whash—" he said sleepily, suppressing a groan.

"Rest your head, Erik," said Christine kindly, patting his wig into place.

"What happened?" Erik sat up and found himself seated upon a soft plush chair with gilt edges.

"You'll never guess where we are!"

"I guess not," he mumbled, and he could barely see the foggy outlines of an elaborate theater. "Oh please," he sat up swiftly, "I hope we aren't here to see the Phantom of the Opera. I can take only so much irony."

"Well," Christine glanced at Nadir, "We aren't exactly here to see the play—"
"Oh, Dear God," said Erik, "Surely not the movie—"
"Yes!" Christine smiled happily, pointing to a large piece of paper taped to Erik's seat with the number "5" painted on in one big, red swoop. "You see? You'll feel right at home!"

Erik made a half-strangled noise before diving into the depths of his chair. "The last thing I need," the others heard from a muffled voice issuing from the depths of the red velvet, "is some Hollywood whipper-snapper constantly reminding me for two hours and twenty minutes exactly how destitute I am."
"But it'll be fun! You see, Raoul's bought popcorn." Raoul, who was grinning from ear to ear (possibly pleased at the prospect of seeing a Hollywood counterpart of himself very soon), held up a large box of popcorn and shook it.

Erik sighed. "The people I associate with," he muttered. "Where are the others?"
"Cosette and Marius went off for a romantic walk. I expect they'll be back soon. Oh! She wanted me to tell you that she was glad she realized how lucky she was to be with her husband—"
"Why is that?"

"Because she says she never realized how unfashionable some men can be." Christine nodded at Erik's wilted rose.

"Thanks, Cosette," said Erik.

"Julio and Nadir went to do something…I don't know, maybe coerce the ushers to let them sit in the rafters or something—"

Erik shook his head in disbelief.

"And Eponine?"
"Right here," said a cheery voice, as Eponine approached him. "Erik, my dear, don't you remember me?"
"Remember you?"

"Think hard!" Eponine sat beside him. "Don't you recall? We went to rehab together!"

Erik thought hard. But of course! In the months following the abandonment of Christine and Marius, the two of them had showed up in rehab together, for Depressed, Unrequited Literary Characters. How could he have forgotten?

"Oh, I remember!"

"Yes, you see, I was a bit nervous to ring you up," Eponine rung her hands together self-consciously, "I didn't think you remembered…and you didn't!"
Erik blushed. "I remember now," he said, "Do you recall those trust exercises we did?"
Eponine chuckled. "Hah! You refused to eat lunch with the others because they didn't let you bring your Punjab Lasso into the cafeteria!"

"And you sat in the corner for days on end, lamenting the existence of men!" Their smiles were genuine now, and they immediately began jabbering about mutual instances in rehab.

Behind them, a guileless and beautiful young soprano observed their prospects with a smile on her face. She like what she saw.

Erik was feeling better already. Eponine was quite ravishing, and she had an interesting sense of humor (and she was a Yanni die-hard, which pleased him). But it stunned him that he had forgotten their days together! "maybe I am going a bit senile," he wondered. Their flow of conversation was interrupted by a general announcement to commence to the seating area, because the movie would shortly begin. By then Cosette and Marius had returned, along with Nadir and Julio who were unsuccessful in their mission. Raoul made a great show of "forgetting the past" by sitting beside Erik and generously sharing his popcorn with the emaciated music-maker. Eponine was on his other side, making interesting comments on Cosette's hair (Cosette was sitting in front of them). For the first time in his life, Erik did not feel the urge to annoy anyone, to murder the vicomte, to seduce Christine, or to burn anything. It was quite alarming, actually. He even smiled at one of Raoul's Korean botanist jokes. "I'm going soft," he said to himself again, the second time in two weeks, which was not generally a good thing. And yet, when the house lights dimmed down, when Gerard Butler's lovely melon filled up the screen and he immediately wondered, "Am I really that good looking?", he was answered with a happy chorus of "NOs!" from all around him which, curiously enough, made him feel very good indeed. It instilled within him a new, unknown feeling of security, for He, Erik, was the One and Only Opera Ghost, Hideous, and Proud of It. And when Julio patted him on the shoulder and offered to "deel weeth" Gerard Butler for being so attractive, Erik smiled. Comfort, companionship, reliability, happiness—he was currently being destroyed by all of these demons, but loving every moment of it. Damn Christmas for being too cheerful, he thought, but he wouldn't mind doing it again.

Author's Note: This can be the end if you want it to be…but I was thinking of adding a chapter for the Opera House Christmas Party…but that's your decision. If you truly hated it, I shall now take this opportunity to gracefully bow out and not add more corny Phantom humor…kind of a lame ending, but what the hey. Thanks for reading!